


The Truth Comes Out

by wewereneverhomeless (hopewithfeathers)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopewithfeathers/pseuds/wewereneverhomeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A siren catches on to Dean's feelings for Sam, and makes sure to let Sam know how much his brother loves him.  Dean expects his brother to leave him, or punch him, or anything except what he actually does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth Comes Out

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know Sam and Dean fight a siren in Sex and Violence, but this is kind of an au i guess because this is set more during season 2.

Dean is exhausted, wet, and, to top off his fantastic evening, he’s bound to a tree in the middle of fucking nowhere. A goddamn siren is leering at him like he’s a piece of meat that’s pinned beneath her claws. Dean and Sam thought she was a water spirit of all things, before she took them by surprise. They’d been chasing her around for a week before they figured it out. At least he and Sam put up a good fight, nearly drowning themselves, until she wrapped her fucking fingers around his little brother’s throat and Dean lost it. She had them tied up before they could even blink. So, Dean’s pissed off, tired, and shivering with adrenalin and cold. 

Sam’s tied a few dozen feet away, to another tree. He’s fighting the ropes pretty hard, and he’s been panting and coughing for the last ten minutes because of the fingers that were around his throat. He’s slumping more and more against the trunk, wheezing like hell, and Dean’s starting to freak the fuck out. He strains against his bonds. 

“Sammy, hey kiddo, you okay?” Sam coughs violently and gives Dean a weak thumbs up. Dean’s not reassured. The siren suddenly laughs, high and loud. She grabs Dean’s chin, ripping his gaze away from his trembling brother, and makes him look into her eyes. On the surface, they’re human, surrounded by dark makeup, but Dean knows what lies underneath. He shivers. 

“Don’t fucking touch him,” Sam gasps. He coughs and coughs like he’ll never stop, and Dean begs Sam silently not to draw attention to himself. Good, good, she’s looking at me, keep looking at me, bitch, keep her away from Sammy. 

“What’s this?” The siren purrs. Dean feels her voice like ice throughout his entire body. It makes him nauseous. “So many secrets in this tiny brain of yours,” she says. “Haven’t been so truthful, have you, little mouse?” 

“Fuck you,” Dean says. It comes out rough and shaky. “What do you want? Gonna kill me?”

Sam makes this almost hysterical whining noise in the back of his throat, and Dean hardens his gaze so the siren won’t look away. Won’t look at Sam. His baby brother thrashes against the ropes, and she spares him a little glance. When she turns back, she’s smirking, wide and amused. Dean’s jaw twitches in her grip. 

“I want to know all your secrets,” she whispers, low and sugary sweet. “Got so many secrets in your head, Dean. But this one…this one is so desperate to be freed. You’re going to have to tell him the truth sometime.” 

Dean freezes. Of course he knows what she’s talking about, how could he not. The secret he’s kept buried deep inside so that Sam could never know. Sam can’t ever know. 

“No,” Dean says. His voice is so soft, suddenly. He can barely speak, and he curses himself, because he knows that’s just going to make her happy. She’ll be happy it’s hurting him. “No,” he says again. 

“Dean?” Sam sounds like he’s five again, anxious, his voice all soft, like Dean’s. “What’s she talking about?” Sam’s breathless after just one sentence. 

“Dunno, Sammy,” Dean lies. Which is pointless, because Sam just heard him protesting. “Don’t try to talk, Sammy, ‘kay?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the siren says smoothly. She trails a long nail over Dean’s cheek, stroking him, and Dean quivers. He strains his neck away from her, and Sam lets out this menacing growl that would make Dean laugh any other time. “You have to tell your brother. Or I’ll tell him myself.” 

Dean clenches his eyes shut so he won’t have to look at either of them. 

“How much do you think he’ll hate you?” she smiles. She stage-whispers it, says it just loud enough that Sam can hear her over his harsh breathing. “Do you think he’ll try to hide how much you disgust him? Do you think he’ll leave you again, little mouse?” 

“Stop,” Dean chokes. “Fucking stop.” His eyes are burning. 

“Dean,” Sam breathes. “Dean, whatever it is, I would never hate you. Wouldn’t ever leave you, okay? Never again.” 

Dean doesn’t believe him. The siren is practically cackling with joy, breathing right in Dean’s face. She grins, showing perfect teeth. Dena snarls at her. 

“Wouldn’t you, Sammy?” she says. She turns to Sam then, and Dean gasps, pulling so hard at the ropes that his wrists scream in pain. “If you knew what he was thinking about you?”

Sam goes terribly still. He’s woofing out wet breathes, but his eyes are on the siren now. 

“He loves you so deeply,” she says. This time, she looks thoughtful, almost awed. Dean’s stomach flips, but Sam’s brow furrows, like he’s confused. 

“I know that,” he says. “I know you do.” Looking at Dean, now. Dean breaks the contact, staring at the sodden grass between his legs. He can’t look at his little brother. God, he can’t stop this. Why is the monster doing this, why doesn’t it just kill them? Sirens manipulate feelings of love, Dean thinks bitterly, reflecting on their lore. Except she doesn’t even have to this time, because Dean’s fucked up. 

“You love him so much,” she says blissfully. She turns looks from Dean to Sam and back again. “You love him so much and he doesn’t even know. Tell me, darling, how long has it been?” She looks at Dean intently, just looks at him, and throws back her head and laughs. She whirls around to Sam. “Oh, Sammy, how long he’s been thinking these things about you. Since you were just a kid, Sammy. Since you were thirteen. What a naughty older brother.” The siren claps her hands together, her expression gleeful. “Oh, Sam, what he thinks about you. It makes me blush.” 

Dean knows the exact moment when Sam gets it. He’s not looking at his little brother, but Sam’s whole head turns in his direction, and Dean can feel the shock radiating off him. Sam’s breathing picks up, and his teeth clank together so hard that Dean hears the smack. Dean shuts his eyes when his stomach rolls; he’s gonna puke, he’s going to cry and be sick in the middle of the fucking woods with a siren laughing at him. 

“S’ not like that,” Dean whispers. He meets Sam’s eyes suddenly, desperate for him to understand. Sam’s face is pale, and Dean doesn’t know if it’s from not breathing or the whole incest thing, but the panic rises in him anyway. “It’s not like that, Sammy, Sam, I swear. I don’t—I would never—God, I couldn’t. Sam.” Dean’s near hysterical now, don’t leave me, can’t leave me, Sammy, God, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “Sam,” he says again, because what else can he say? I jerked off to the thought of you from the time I was sixteen? I’m in love with you? I’ve never stopped being in love with you, never stopped wanting you. “I would never hurt you,” Dean says instead. 

“Well, that’s not completely true, either,” the siren cuts in. She’s baring her teeth at Dean like she loves this, Dean split wide open and begging. Of course she does. Dean keeps his eyes on Sam, but Sam’s eyes are dazed, and he’s the one who looks down at the ground now. He won’t look at Dean, and Dean’s throat closes up. 

He sort of doesn’t care if she kills him. Kill him, let Sammy go. He knows he’s saying it, too loud and desperate in the quiet trees. Kill me, let my brother go. 

He feels hands on his hands, then. He would know these hands anywhere, huge and warm with able fingers. Dean sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t move as Sam unties his ropes. Slowly, quietly. Dean keeps talking to the siren, anything to keep her attention off Sam. 

In the next second, the siren is shrieking with fury, toppling and landing flat on her back in the dirt. Sam’s pinning her to the ground with all his weight, his chest heaving, and his eyes meet Dean’s, angry and wild. 

“Run, Dean!” He screams. “I got her, run!” 

A bronze dagger dipped in someone under its spell, Dean recites in his head, and they don’t have that, so running and killing later is the only option. Dean’s not running. Not without Sam. 

“Dean, Dean, go, Christ, go! I’ll be right behind you, I swear!” 

Sam stares at him, and there’s none of the pale, sick shock that Dean saw in his brother’s eyes only minutes before. There’s desperation, fear for Dean, and love there instead, and that’s the only reason Dean runs. He runs until his lungs are burning. He doesn’t slow down until he hears Sam trampling the ground behind him. 

>>

It takes Sam and Dean five hours to find the blood of one of the siren’s victims, and another two to find the monster, before they finally kill it. They get back to the motel that’s been home for the past week, soaked in mud and blood, and Dean has actually never been this goddamn tired. Never. He’s cold and scared and his stomach hurts. Sam has only said what’s necessary to the case since they got away, which is understandable, fine, Dean gets it, but he just wants to know if he’s going to wake up alone tomorrow. The second Sam opens his mouth to say something though, Dean’s falling all over himself to get to the bathroom, mumbling about needing a shower. At least Sam’s breathing better.

The water is scalding, it hurts. Dean half dozes against the wall, his eyes too heavy to lift.. He stays under the water until Sam knocks on the door. 

“Dean,” he says. It’s gentle, and Dean’s legs shake. At this point, he’ll take Sam’s pity. As long as his brother doesn’t leave. “Come on, man, you have to come out sometime. And I need to shower, too.” 

Dean doesn’t respond, but he steps out of the shower, almost slipping and cracking his head on the floor. When he opens the bathroom door he expects Sam to be across the room from him, but his little brother looms in the doorway, close and warm and still here. He’s watching Dean, his eyes on his face, but Dean can’t meet his eyes. He scuffs his bare feet at the ratty motel carpet, tightening his grip on the towel around his waist. 

“Let me by, Sammy,” he says gruffly. He doesn’t want to brush up against him. Sam seems to hesitate, opening his mouth and then closing it. He finally fumbles a hand towards Dean’s face, catching his chin between his warm palm. Dean goes cross-eyed, looking at Sam’s massive hand on his skin. Dean meets Sam’s eyes this time. Sam’s are warm, serious. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” Sam orders, and then his touch his gone. He walks past Dean and into the bathroom, and Dean’s left swaying on his feet, speechless and more uncertain than he’s ever been in his life. He stands in the open doorway for a while, listening to the rustle of clothes hitting the floor and Sam dropping the shampoo bottle. Dean forces himself to move, shakes his muddled head, and collapses on the bed nearest to the bathroom—the bed Sam sleeps on. It still smells like Sam from the last time he slept here, like something sweet and woody and amazing. Dean shoves his face in Sam’s pillow and blocks every thought he can, letting his mouth drop open so maybe he can inhale his brother, inhale the scent of Sammy into his bones. 

>>

He’s mostly asleep when Sam slides a hand up his aching back, rubbing in slow circles that make Dean’s eyes flutter open and closed again. He mumbles he doesn’t even know what into the pillow, smacking his lips and trying to focus on Sam’s face. It’s not really working. 

“Dean,” Sam whispers. “Hey, wake up. We’re going to have to talk about this.” 

And just like that, all the slumped contentment leaves Dean’s body. He tenses, his whole body going rigid with fear. He grips the sheets in his fingers so hard it hurts. 

“Sam,” he says. “We don’t.” 

“We do,” Sam argues. His fingers stoke the back of Dean’s neck, and fuck, that’s just unfair. Dean buries his face in Sam’s pillow to hide his pleased huff. “Dean, what the siren said—“

“Look, just fucking don’t, man, okay?” Dean snaps. He jerks away from Sam’s hand, sitting up and practically running across the room. He can’t get away from his brother fast enough. “I saw it, I saw you, I don’t need to hear how wrong it is, or that it’s not healthy, or whatever, because I fucking know, man, alright? I’ve had to deal with this shit since I was sixteen, don’t you think I know? Christ, I don’t need to hear it from you.” Dean’s panting in the corner by the door, eyeing the knob like he can escape when Sam’s not looking, like Sam couldn’t stop him. Dean flinches when he realizes Sam might just let him go. Sam takes a huge step towards him. Dean backs up. 

“It’s true?” Sam whispers. “Everything it said was true?” Dean laughs, hollow and without humor. 

“Yeah. Thought you could tell that much.” 

“I didn’t—siren’s manipulate thoughts, Dean,” Sam says. “I didn’t—I mean—God, Dean.” Sam fumbles, his eyes wide, and Dean wishes he just played the whole thing off. Pretended the siren was lying. Sam swallows, and steps closer. He’s only a few feet away now. Dean closes his eyes. 

“Just fucking punch me, man,” Dean says through his teeth. “Just do it.” 

“Not gonna punch you,” Sam says. Dean can feel Sam’s breath on his face. He tries to back up again, but Sam catches him around the waist, tugging him in close until they’re pressed together. Dean squeaks in shock, tightening his hands in Sam’s shirt. He tries to push him away, but his hands won’t cooperate. He clings to Sam, feels the still-wet skin beneath his fingertips. 

“Sammy?” he says, hushed. He opens his eyes to find Sam staring back at him, a little smile on his face. Dean’s heart thumps hard and fast inside his chest. Sam cups Dean’s cheeks in his hands. Dean’s breathing so hard it’s embarrassing, just short little gasps through his open mouth. 

“Loved you before than,” Sam says. Dean chokes. 

“W-what?” 

“Loved you before you loved me,” Sam repeats. He thumbs at Dean’s stubble, scratches it lightly. “I knew I loved you when I was twelve.” 

Some part of Dean recognizes that he’s awake, that Sam is touching him and smiling at him and confessing these feelings for him that Dean thought he would have to bear alone for his entire life. Another part of him wonders whether he fell asleep waiting for Sam to get out of the shower. Maybe he even died back in the woods. Maybe he’s in heaven now, or as close as he can get to it. If such a thing exists. 

“’M awake?” Dean mumbles, mostly to himself. His fingers tighten in Sam’s shirt, and one of his hands flattens over Sam’s belly. “This is real?”

“Yeah, you idiot,” Sam says, though he looks close to tears. “You’re awake. This is real. I…I love you.” 

“But you—back in the woods, you—the way you looked at me, Sam.” Dean shuts his eyes against the pain. His stomach churns again. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers. He leans forward and grazes his lips across Dean’s forehead. Dean’s so surprised he doesn’t do anything except close his eyes. “I had to think…I couldn’t think about you like that. I couldn’t let the siren know I loved you, too. I think…I think my thoughts were harder to tap into to, because of my psychic thing.” Sam kisses him again, on the cheek, and this time Dean bumps their noses together, and presses hasty lips back against Sam’s jaw. “I’m so sorry, Dean. God, it killed me, I swear it did.” 

Dean’s head is swimming, he feels dizzy as fuck, and his vision is all blurred at the edges. He wraps unsteady arms around Sam’s middle, holding Sam there and shuffling closer until they’re nearly nose to nose. 

“You okay?” Sam breathes. “Say something, Dean.” Dean looks right into Sam’s concerned eyes, his knees shaking, and he does what he’s wanted to do since he was just a kid. He tips his head up, his eyes flickering between Sam’s eyes and his lips, and kisses his little brother. He kisses him quick and nervous, barely a brush of lips before he pulls away again. 

“Okay?” Dean says. 

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam’s hands never leave his face, and he pulls Dean in for another kiss. Dean falls into it, the feel of Sam’s lips on his, sweet and needy at once. He kisses him slowly at first, like he’s savoring it, and Dean makes this helpless little sound into Sam’s mouth. He’s never felt anything this good. 

“Good?” Sam says.

“Fuck, yeah, Sammy,” Dean mutters. He doesn’t open his eyes, chasing Sam’s mouth when Sam’s lips leave his. “Don’t stop.” 

Sam kisses him harder the third time, biting a little at the corner of his mouth, licking past Dean’s teeth like he belongs there. He sucks at Dean’s bottom lip, nipping and tonguing at it, and Dean’s not sure if he can stay upright much longer. 

“You want this?” Dean says, just to hear Sam say it again.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam whimpers slightly when Dean steps away. “Want this so bad, Dean, want you so bad. God, wanted you for so long, big brother.” 

Jesus fuck. Dean crowds back in Sam’s space when he says it, kissing him so hard he’s sure Sam’s lips are going to bruise. God, it’s fucked up, it is, but Dean shivers hard when the word brother tumbles out of Sam’s mouth. Sam notices and he smiles widely, his dimples showing. Dean rocks up to kiss both creases in his cheeks and the seam of his mouth. 

“Bed,” Dean rumbles. He walks them back until the back of Sam’s knees hit the closest bed, and Sam lets himself fall backwards. He lands on the mattress with an “oof,” taking Dean down with him. They’re pressed together head to toe, their legs tangled, and Dean breathes hard against Sam’s cheek. They’re so close Dean can feel Sam’s heart pounding against his. Dean smiles and pushes back Sam’s shirt, stroking his stomach and up his chest. 

“There we go,” Sam says. “I was waiting for that.” He smiles too, and kisses Dean, their smiles smacking together. They kiss like that, just kiss, for a long time. It turns serious, and Dean’s fingers tighten in Sam’s hair, tugging hard. Sam moans, his breath hitching, so Dean does it again. 

“Like that, Sammy?” Dean’s mouth slides down Sam’s jaw to kiss his neck. He sucks a bruise there until Sam’s gasping, his hands digging into Dean’s hips. Dean knows it’ll leave a mark tomorrow, but he loves it. He wants everyone to know Sam is his. 

“Christ, Dean,” Sam whimpers. He tilts his head so Dean can have better access, and Dean keeps biting at his skin, while reaching between their bodies to pull at Sam’s belt. His fingers feel too thick, fumbling, and he’s breathing too hard into Sam’s neck. He knows this is going to be over embarrassingly fast. 

“Sam, gotta, uh,” Dean whines in frustration, and Sam hums back. He puts his own hand over Dean’s to still it, rubbing over his knuckles. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “This is good. Just this. We have plenty of time, Dean.” Sam slips his fingers between Dean’s, squeezing. “Plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Dean nods, his eyes locked on Sam’s. Sam smiles, and Dean smiles back, and then Sam’s rocking up against him, slow and a little off-rhythm. A slow ache starts in Dean’s abdomen as he grinds back, his right arm shaking where it holds him up. They’re both panting too soon, Christ, and Dean’s going to lose it. 

“Sammy,” Dean moans, wrecked. He gasps when Sam suddenly flips them over, his entire body holding Dean on the mattress. He rubs his hips harder, faster, into Dean’s, groaning “yeah, Dean, yeah, come on, big brother,” and Dean’s going to come, he’s going to come without his brother even touching him. 

“Ah, ah, Christ, Sammy, God, Sam, Sam—“ Dean comes in his jeans like he hasn’t done since he was a teenager, and Sam whines high in his throat (and Dean might not even give him shit for that later). A few more thrusts and Sam comes too, saying Dean’s name brokenly and biting at his collarbone. Sam slumps down, boneless, and Dean doesn’t shove him off like he should. His little brother nearly crushing him feels better than it should.

“Dean,” Sam slurs, Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. 

“Sammy,” Dean says back. Sam laughs a little, kissing his shoulder. He yawns loudly, his breath warm on Dean’s skin. 

“Hey,” Sam says. He pulls away just slightly to look at Dean. His eyes are bright, happy like Dean hasn’t seen him since he was a kid. “No more secrets, okay?” Dean flushes, but he reaches out for Sam’s sweat-curled hair, feeling it between his fingers. He tugs Sam down for a sloppy kiss. They’re both nearly asleep. 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says. “No more secrets.” 

“Promise?” 

“’Course, Sammy.” 

Dean kisses him until his eyes slip closed and Sam’s breathing evens out. Sam sleeps with his arm tossed across Dean’s middle and his face buried in Dean’s neck. His hair tickles Dean’s chin, but Dean just holds him tighter. He kisses the top of Sam’s head, smiling sleepily at the ceiling, until he drifts off to a warm pile of little brother and Sam’s fingers twitching against his stomach.


End file.
